Murder In Stratford-Upon-Avon
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Officers of New Scotland Yard are summoned to Warwickshire, to the home of a multi-millionaire whose daughter had been found dead. It would seem that having money was also enough to insist upon the assistance of London's favourite Consulting Detective and his blogger. A gift for MrsPencil - poetess extraordinaire!


**Almost a year ago now my very good friend, MrsPencil sent me a gift within a gift. The gift inspired this, and although it has taken a long time to write I dedicate it to MrsPencil - a wonderful friend, most compassionate lady, and above all my favourite Lone Wolf Poetess :D**

There were some days when it never ceased to amaze Lestrade how money truly equalled power, and in this case it had the power to command the presence of Scotland Yard's finest to investigate the death of a multi-millionaire's daughter.

And it was with a degree of glee that he was able to, because of said millionaire's stipulations, insist that if he had to travel to the country then so too did his Consulting Detective and side kick doctor.

xXx

Sherlock stared down at the body. The victim looked as if she had just fallen asleep.

"She's only a kid." Sally sounded genuinely upset.

"Don't waste your pity." The consulting detective sneered. "She's hardly as _white as the driven snow_."

"What?"

"Sherlock." John's voice held a hint of warning, but his friend was on a roll.

"It's obvious to even the most meagre intelligence that she tried to _play fast and loose_ with her dealer." He picked up a nearby rubbish bin, his sharp eyes taking in everything within. "Aha! Now Lestrade, if you think Anderson can be trusted to test this properly, I think you'll find the heroin traces are contaminated. There will be prints too, let's hope it's not just hers."

The Forensics lead spluttered indignantly at the implication in the other's words, but Lestrade waved him to silence as he retrieved the clear plastic bag that had held the drugs and dropped it into an evidence bag.

"Want to talk us through it?" Ever the peacemaker, John stepped between the antagonists and looked expectantly at his flatmate.

Sherlock's eyes shone, he was in his element as he gestured widely around the room.

"The evidence is all around us." He said. "This is no student living for the moment in _an eye-sore_ tenement block, she was a rich kid living in _a fool's paradise_ ; her demise was a _foregone conclusion_ once she started her affair with her killer. She's a local girl, studied Drama both here and in London, that's where she met her dealer, and now she has _come full circle_."

"How can you know that?"

"How can you not, Sally?" Sherlock countered, picking up and waving the victim's wallet at her, an out of date student union card from the University of London sat opposite a driving licence with a Warwickshire address.

The occupants of the room waited on the rest of Sherlock's deductions with _bated breath_.

" _The naked truth_ is, she thought she was clever enough to entice him into giving her free drugs when her money ran out – that much is obvious enough from the ostentatious displays of wealth around the flat, she wanted him to think he was _the be all and end all_ in her life, and that he could live off her family's wealth if only he would keep her supplied."

"Well that's _cold comfort_ for the victim." Anderson drawled from his spot leaning against the door jamb. "She unfortunately, is as _dead as a doornail_."

"Anderson." Lestrade sighed, frustrated at the officer's inappropriate comments, but the other man was insensible to the atmosphere in the room.

"What? You expect me to care for a rich druggie? To _wear my heart on my sleeve_ for her?" he glanced over at the corpse. " _The short and the long of it_ is that this silly cow…"

"For God's sake Anderson, the woman's dead!" John snarled angrily. "You could be…"

"Could be what?" With a sneer the Forensics officer turned and looked down at the blond doctor. "What we call her is _neither here nor there_ , _what's in a name_ after all?"

This was one insult too far for Greg and he rounded angrily on Anderson.

" _What the dickens_ do you think you're doing? Wait outside, and when Sherlock is finished you can take control of the scene."

Sherlock smirked. " _Good riddance_!"

"That's hardly fair sir," Donovan spoke up for her some-time lover. "You're making him a _laughing stock_."

"He manages that all by himself." John muttered, turning to his flatmate. "Look, _what's done is done_ ; let's just get this wrapped up eh?"

"Right. Let's start with these…" Sherlock waved towards the intricate tattoo across the girl's lower back.

"It's just a fancy bloody tramp stamp." Sally spat, still angry at her boss's siding with the two consultants. She grimaced as she looked down at the multi-coloured pattern.

With an oddly blank expression on his face Sherlock leaned forward, and with a single knuckle tapped on the caramel skinned Sergeant's forehead.

" _Knock knock, who's there_?" he hissed. "Are you really so empty headed?"

He gave her no chance to speak, whirling and pointing to the corpse once more.

"Worked into the pattern are at least two Shakespeare quotes," he crouched, running a latex covered finger across the inking. " _O brave new world_ , and _Beware the ides of March_ …"

Leaning over his shoulder John squinted at the words.

"Really? Doesn't look like it."

"Latin John."

"Ah, explains it." He grinned at his friend. " _It was Greek to me_."

Sherlock huffed out a laugh.

"If that wasn't clue enough that she was into the dramatic arts you have only to look around this room, at the awards and commendations, exam certificates, festival trophies, even theatrical themed quotes on the cushions. If you ask me you can have _too much of a good thing_ …"

"Yeah but nobody asked you."

"Tut tut Sally, your _green eyed monster_ 's showing."

"My…?"

"Anyway, that covers the drama student aspect of this case…" his eyes watched as across the room Sally headed for the door. "Leaving us Sergeant? So soon? _Parting is such sweet sorrow_!"

"Stop it git!" John nudged the taller man, who just looked at him with raised eyebrows and continued his speech.

"So, I imagine the old school tie isn't there to remind her of the good old days, nor do I think she was in any state to hang it up after taking the hit – ergo she trusted whoever was here with her. A dealer that has nothing to hide wouldn't go to such lengths to tidy away evidence of his being here.

"Nothing to hide?" Lestrade repeated.

"Other than the fact that he's pedalling illegal drugs." The doctor clarified.

Greg glared half-heartedly at John, then looked pointedly at Sherlock.

"Look, if he'd simply removed every trace, including the little baggie the white powder came in, I'd have just passed him off as stupid, but although he remembered to leave at least the evidence that the victim had used class A drugs I'd call him stupidly greedy. That wallet? There's well used spaces where three or four credit cards used to be – they're missing. He thought she was rich, but this place is owned by our victim's family." Looking around he gestured vaguely. "This room has told us everything; you might as well call Anderson in and let's see _what a piece of work_ he can make of it. We should look around the rest of the house."

Knowing that John would follow the consulting detective; Lestrade hurriedly snapped instructions to his officers and rushed off in their wake, before they had a chance to disappear _into thin air_.

As he approached the kitchen he could hear what sounded like a heated discussion between the flatmates. Slowing his steps he strained to hear more.

" _In my heart of heart_ s Sherlock I just know that he's not going to _budge an inch_. In _one fell swoop_ you could find yourself backed into an immovable object with no _elbow room_."

"But John…"

"I'd kill you before you knew what…"

Greg had heard enough, and he burst into the room to find Sherlock pressed up against the central island, John leaning into him with a knife just millimetres from his exposed throat. Two pairs of inquisitive eyes were staring at him.

"Er…do you want to put that down John? I mean, whatever he's done this time…"

John choked back a laugh and Sherlock bestowed a genuine smile on the confused Detective Inspector.

"We were discussing the likelihood that our Juliette actually confronted her Romeo about the money he owed her." Sherlock held up an evidence bag containing a crumpled sheet of paper. "She certainly tried to draft a letter to him. It seems Daddy's putting pressure on her about the speed at which she's going through her allowance, and she needed the loans repaid." He pointed to a note stuck on the refrigerator that read 'Again you have _eaten me out of house and home_ , it's about time you learned to budget more efficiently – Dad'

"Proof if you should need it that you should _neither a borrower nor a lender be_." John returned the knife to the wooden block, checking the other knives in the set for evidence. "And obviously the dealer had acquired an unhealthy dependence on _too much of a good thing_ – money, women, drugs, whatever – and he wasn't planning on giving any of it back."

"Greed, drugs and beautiful women are not such _strange bedfellows_ ," Sherlock added. "Sufficient quantities of any two of the three and the dealer would believe that ' _the world's mine oyster'_ , as they say, and no little would be acting socialite would be allowed to spoil it."

"And she was reeled in hook, line and sinker." Greg shook his head sadly. "They say _love is blind_."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

" _In my mind's eye_ ," the policeman continued, "I can see it all – the would-be luvvie and the budding drugs baron. _We have seen better days than this_."

"Oh for goodness sake!"

"What?"

"Oh come on John, next he'll be weeping and wailing and saying our victim's been _done to death_!"

"Of course," John grinned, "and no one but you is allowed to be a drama queen!"

Returning his grin Sherlock swept a grand gesture around the room.

" _All the world's a stage_ , John." her intoned as he moved towards the door the doctor following hard on his heels, and leaving Lestrade standing open mouthed in the kitchen.

"Oi! What about the dealer?" The Detective Inspector called out as they reached the front door. Sherlock paused and turned to look back.

"No doubt our paths crossed somewhere between here and London – once you've finished with the crime scene meet me at Baker Street – oh, and don't forget to check for use of those credit cards.."

And with his hand on the small of John's back the consultants walked out into the river-scented air of Stratford-Upon-Avon.

 **A/N: The gift was a bag with Shakespeare quotes - or to be more specific quotes we use in everyday life that were first coined by Master Shakespeare all those years ago. There are 42 quotes on the bag - and one way or another they have all made it into this story :D I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**


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